


Baby Drama

by TheDamnRiddler



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Derek Hale's pack are dicks, Fail!Wolves all around, Fluff and Humor, Funny, Gen, Peter's life generally sucks, Stiles gets roped into it, Texting, sort of child neglect
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-11
Updated: 2014-11-11
Packaged: 2018-02-24 23:26:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,350
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2600249
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheDamnRiddler/pseuds/TheDamnRiddler
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>One day, someone leaves a baby on Peter Hale's doorstep. He's not okay with that.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Baby Drama

**Author's Note:**

> So. This is a thing. Because I always read 'baby got left on Derek's doorstep'. No one ever leaves Peter anything. Which is rude.

Peter likes to start his day around eight. He likes to get up, start his coffee machine, take a shower, and spend a good ten minutes puttering about in his robe while sipping quietly. Sometimes he turns on the news. Mostly he just passes time on his tablet or laptop. When he's in the mood, usually around ten, he'll go down to the main floor of his building to workout for an hour (just an hour because unlike Derek he doesn't use exercise as a way to punish himself).

Then he'll come back up, take another shower, get dressed, and--if he feels like it--then he goes to see what the Scooby Gang is up to. It's always amusing to see his nephew try to be a dictator to a batch of wild, mouth-breathing children who couldn't give two shits less about what he thinks.

He's just started up his coffee machine when he hears someone scuffle up to his door. He usually ignores everyone--there are other tenants on this floor and he's not exactly cozy enough with any of them to warrant a visit. Peter wonders for a moment if the doorman has let in more Jehovah's Witnesses that are barking up the way-wrong tree with him.

The wolf generally refuses to open the door to anything but Girl Scouts selling cookies.

Whoever's on the other side of the door doesn't knock and Peter grows more wary. He waits for a few minutes and only relaxes when the person leaves.

Probably some family member visiting with the wrong address.

He goes for his shower.

It's later, when he's dicking around online and sipping at his coffee, that he notices that something is making a noise outside his door again. He cocks his head a picks up a quick drumming. Heartbeat. Small animal?

Did someone leave a fucking small animal on his doorstep? Was it a cat? He'd been thinking about getting a cat and if there was one that had obviously been delivered to the wrong apartment, he was keeping it.

Or it could be another prank of those fucking kids from the second floor. They'd spray painted crude words on his door on Halloween. He'd retaliated by stealing their dog and dropping it off at the pound two towns over.

He hadn't been caught, but he'd assumed they had gotten the message.

Peter grumbles to himself and tightens his robe before getting up and striding to the front door. He peeks out the peephole and sees nothing. He huffs and opens the door. Glancing down the hallway: nothing.

He looks down.

And his morning just isn't going to go the way he planned at all.

Because there, in a little basket, wrapped in a yellow and white checkered blanket, is a baby.

Like. A baby.

Not even a baby _cat_.

Like a _baby_ -baby. Like an "Oops, the condom broke, I'll call you later," sort of baby.

Peter stares down at it.

He doesn't like anything about this, so he clears his throat, shakes his head, and calmly heads back inside. He locks the door for good measure.

Peter feels immediately better once the _thing_ is out of his sight and goes back to the relative safety of his coffee and tablet.

Another cup of coffee and a shower later, Peter can't help his curiosity and creeps the door back open to check if the baby's still there.

It is.

He frowns down at the basket.

There is indeed still a baby there.

Peter sips his coffee in silence. The baby mouths at a pudgy fist and gurgles at him. Happily.

He narrows his eyes suspiciously.

Then he turns around and shuts the door. Nope. Someone else's problem. All he had to do was wait. He shared this floor with four other tenants, one of them would surely come pick the child up. What kind of monster would just pass by a baby in the hallway and not do anything to help it?

At the very most, all Peter would have to endure was a quick conversation of: 'Is this your baby? No? Okay.'

Satisfied with his life choices, Peter pours himself another cup of coffee and goes back to looking up pictures of Kitler. It was a cat that looked like Hitler. Peter would never not find that hilarious.

The baby is still making noise a half hour later and no one has come to Peter's rescue. He thinks briefly about calling the police, but that would just come crashing down on his head once they realized his credentials were faked and he was basically an escaped coma patient. There could be awkward questions regardless of the child.

But he also can't just leave it out there to rot, because as good a tenant as he is, a dead baby on his doorstep would get him evicted. Probably arrested.

Peter sighs and gets up again, going back out into the hall to peer down at this little bundle of shit he's stepped in.

The baby is staring at its toes like they hold the secret of the universe. With the way it's moving though...

Peter leans closer to get a better look and spies a note tucked under the baby's pillow. He doesn't reach for it. He's pretty sure he's heard somewhere that if you get your scent on a baby that the mother won't take it back to the nest.

He snickers to himself and then straightens.

Damn it. Only one thing to do.

He ducks back inside and grabs up his phone to type out a quick mass text to the group he's labeled "Scooby Gang".

 

**Peter** : Someone left a baby on my doorstep.

 

He sets his phone down and goes to get changed. When he comes back, he checks through his messages.

Lydia does not text him back. Rude.

 

**Jackson** : how did u get mu numr

**Jackson** : you"

**Jackson** : **

**Jackson** : my* numer*

**Jackson** : duck it

**Scott** : >:|

**Stiles** : ...

**Derek** : dont text me

**Isaac** : Derek says we dont have to answer your texts

**Erica** : HAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHHAHA

**Boyd** : okay.

 

Peter sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose to try and stave off what is quickly becoming a truly impressive headache. He can't blame them. It's outrageous. He certainly wouldn't believe it if they had texted the same thing to him.

He goes outside again, snaps a picture of the child (who now has his...her?...entire foot in his mouth). Then he sends it out and waits.

 

**Derek** : did you steal a baby

**Jackson** : wtf wy do yu have mu numr?!

**Jackson** : why*

**Jackson** : you*

**Jackson** : duck you

**Jackson** : fuck*

**Scott** : OMG DID YOU STEAL A BABY  >:O

**Stiles** : DUDE YOU STOLE A BABY?!?!?!?!

**Erica** : HAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHOMFGI'MCRYING

**Isaac** : Derek says you stole a baby

**Boyd** : thats fucked up man

**Derek** : Peter where did you get that baby. give it back

 

Peter glares down at his phone. Really? _Really?_ What the hell would have been his master plan in stealing an infant and telling people about it? What would he even _do_ with a baby?

A text chimes in.

 

**Stiles** : DUDE DON'T EAT THAT PLEASE

 

Peter is so done with this bullshit. He closes his eyes and gathers himself for a moment before doing something he really doesn't want to do...and then sends out his address. There goes not being bothered at all hours. He really wouldn't be surprised if he woke up one day to Derek stalking his building like it owed him money.

Surprisingly (or not), Stiles is the first one to get there. Peter hears him from inside, where he's sitting on his couch wondering if he should start packing to move or not. He likes this place. But he likes everyone not knowing where he lives even more.

He listens to Stiles huff his way out of the elevator and knows the precise moment he spots the baby because he lets out an explosive "Dude!"

Peter sighs and slowly drags himself up and over to the door. He can sees Stiles' stupid face gawking through the peephole and opens his door.

Stiles looks up at him, mouth open (always fucking open) and then stares down at the baby again. He has his phone out and is in the middle of composing a message that mostly reads: "?!?!?!?!"

"Dude!" he says again.

Which, yes, Peter can related to that level of surprise.

"Did you steal it?!"

The wolf huffs. "No, I didn't _steal_ a baby. Someone dropped it off here."

"Who would leave you a baby?!"

"I. Don't. Know."

"Is it _real_?!"

Peter wants to hit him and the teen must see it in his face because he quickly adds, "Well it might be a bomb!"

The wolf just sighs.

"Why didn't you bring it in?"

Peter blinks. "Why would I bring it in?"

Stiles stares at him like he's being dull on purpose. "Dude...it's a _baby_."

"Yes, why would I want it in my--hey!"

The teen has already stooped down and plucked up the basket in both arms before Peter can finish. He bustles passed Peter (who almost jumps out of the way because _no thank you_ ) and sets the kid, carrier and all, onto the marble counter of his breakfast bar.

"Get that thing off there!" Peter snaps. Jesus. He _eats_ there.

Stiles ignores him and starts making faces at the baby. Peter rolls his eyes and goes back to the couch.

Not ten minutes later he can hear arguing spilling out into the hallway. He swallows a groan and gets to his feet to answer the door.

Jackson bursts in before he can get there (like knocking isn't a thing that civilized people do anymore), scans the apartment and purses his lips like he can't find anything to immediately bitch about and that annoys him.

Derek stomps in next and glares at Peter as he passes by, then glances at the baby Stiles is standing over. His eyebrows shoot toward his hairline like he's genuinely surprised that there was a real baby and not some sort of bizarre trick.

Scott trails after him in a weird way like he's trying to look like he just happened to be to be there at the time and isn't following Derek in any way, shape, or form.

And then there's Stiles. King of the Mouth-Breathers and One-Liners. If being annoying was a religion, he'd be their Messiah.

Together they're the great team that somehow managed to bring Peter down while Alpha.

He sighs and closes the door. Fuck his life.

"Lydia had something else to do," Jackson sniffs. Which Peter translates as: Lydia wanted to know what was going on but still didn't trust herself around Peter and any opportunity to set him on fire so she sent me instead.

Which was sweet of her. He should send her flowers. Or text her a smiley face.

"Allison didn't want to come because she thinks she wouldn't be welcome," Scott says quickly. The teen already has his phone out as though waiting for the confirmation that that isn't true.

"Smart girl," Peter says flatly.

Scott looks confused and then insulted. Like the very idea that his precious girlfriend not being allowed somewhere is ludicrous. He frowns severely--at least, severely for him--and actually tries to stare the older wolf down.

Peter graciously denies himself the pleasure of smacking the kid upside the head.

"But she's _Allison_ ," he says, as though he thinks maybe Peter got confused somewhere along the line.

Thankfully, Stiles has the good grace to step in and stop the ensuing shit storm before it can properly brew. Which is a shame. Peter bets he could probably get Scott to pitch a fit and leave in a huff while once again declaring that "he's not part of the pack!"

"Priorities, buddy, huh?" Stiles intervenes. "Got a lost baby here, dropped off at Satan's doorstep."

Peter rolls his eyes.

"Where did you get the baby?" Derek gruffs out, like words actually pain him and he'd be much happier punching everything back into its place. Including the infant.

"I didn't steal the damn baby," Peter snaps.

The others trade looks.

Then everyone's staring down at the baby. Which is just _such_ a step up from what he'd been doing. Honestly, why did he think any of these people could help him?

"Is..." Stiles squints down at the child. "Is it a werewolf?"

Peter blinks and shares a surprised look with Derek. Derek frowns even harder.

"I don't know," he says.

Peter decides to elaborate before someone asks his nephew a question and the poor boy breaks something. "At this age babies just smell of their mother and milk."

He remembers a tinier Derek also smelling of Cheetos, but that was because Laura liked to pet him with sticky orange fingers and tell him how she was going to beat him up when he got bigger.

Later, little Laura had patted her brother with her cheese-crusted fingers, promising that when he got older that she'd show him a really cool game called 'red rocket' that you played with dogs.

Which had been disturbing on many levels, namely because they didn't have a dog and Laura had been six and homeschooled so where the hell did she even learn that?

"Why does it matter if it's a werewolf or a human?" Jackson says. And he's leaning against the bar like he's posing for a magazine shoot or thinking about looting through Peter's booze to find something to steal and Peter kinda hates him.

Stiles is quick to shrug, "Well we need to know whether to drop it off at the orphanage or the--"

"Don't," Derek pitches his brows low.

"--pound," Stiles finishes.

He gets no applause, for which he seems truly insulted over.

"Whatever, I'm funny," he mutters.

"There was a note in the basket!" Peter tries not to sound as annoyed as he feels. "Why don't you check that?"

Stiles, still grumbling to himself, reaches in and sorts through the piles of baby and blanket and cushion like he isn't afraid of anything. Which is good because if it were just the wolves piddling around, there'd be a whole lot of awkward staring before someone forced someone else forward. It was just...bad manners to touch a child that wasn't yours in wolf society. Mostly the young were kept close to their mothers' sides until they were old enough to crawl around on their own.

To touch a baby you weren't given explicit permission to touch was...borderline suicidal.

"Okay, yeah," Stiles pulls out the little white, crinkled paper while Peter glares at Jackson until he moves away from the booze.

"Uh...it says: 'We met last year, baby's yours'."

_What?!_

Derek glowers over at Peter like all his life troubles are because of him; Jackson is snickering; Scott is doing his 'I'm very concerned' frown--

And Stiles is laughing and shaking his head, "No, I'm kidding--"

Derek looks murderous and Peter's heart has stopped its sudden racing as he remembers that last year he was still in a damn coma.

"Jesus, calm down, look it just says 'Good luck!', okay?!" he holds the note out for everyone to see.

It does indeed say 'Good luck!' Which is really fucking helpful.

"So...now what?" Scott asks. He keeps glancing down at his phone in the least subtle way possible. Peter wants to hit him again.

Derek sighs heavily and crosses his arms. "We can leave it at a fire station or a police--"

"Dude!" Jackson looks ready to throw down--oh right, little orphans are probably a sore point with him. "We can't just drop him off somewhere!"

Derek opens his mouth to argue, but Stiles beats him to it.

"Well, wait, what if it _is_ a werewolf baby and someone gave it to the only werewolf in town that wasn't living with their parents or in a subway station?"

Derek snaps his mouth shut and glares.

Stiles shrugs.

"Yeah! What if it's a werewolf baby!" Jackson says.

Scott frowns seriously (which looks fucking ridiculous on his face) and takes a step toward Derek. "Look, this is your responsibility--"

"What?!" the Alpha spits out. And Peter really wants to laugh at the amount of bullshit these teens lump on the poor guy.

"Derek! You're a werewolf and you keep saying that we have to keep ourselves secret, right?"

Uh-oh, Scott's making a point. Peter doesn't like this.

"So how many werewolves are in foster care? What if he gets adopted to a normal family and then starts biting them when he gets older?"

Derek rolls his eyes so hard his entire upper body moves with them.

"Well how long until little werebabies start werebabying?" Stiles asks. And, oh God, he's actually picked up the infant while no one was looking and is now bouncing him in his arms.

The wolves take a collective step away from him.

Derek glances at Peter and Peter shrugs.

"Depends, most start showing at around two. Derek showed at four," Peter smiles at his nephew. "He was a late bloomer."

Derek glares at him.

"Okay, so we just keep him for two years--" Scott starts.

"What is even coming out of your mouth right now, dude?" Stiles interrupts. "We can't _keep_ a baby! Where are we going to put it? Who's going to take care of it?"

There's a quick pause as Scott, Derek, and Jackson trade looks.

"...well it's already here and you're holding it," Jackson says.

"No." Peter and Stiles say at the same time. They frown at each other.

Scott is staring down at his phone. "Dude, Allison keeps texting me, I have to answer back--"

"Dude! Scott, no! Okay, I'm saying no!"

Peter crosses his arms. "Derek, you can't seriously leave me with _two_ children--"

"Hey!"

But Derek has already got that annoying smirk on his face that means his thinks he won something. "Until we figure out what to do--"

"We can go to Deaton!" Stiles says quickly, bobbing the baby back and forth. "Deaton has to know of some underground railroad for werebabies, right?!"

Peter is stuck between wanting to hit the boy and desperately hoping that maybe there is such a thing as an underground railroad for unwanted babies.

Scott is nodding empathically at his best friend. "Dude, it's okay, we'll find out something soon. I'll go to Deaton now--" They all gracefully don't point out that he's lying. "and see if there's something he can do!"

Stiles looks only mildly pacified. "And you'll come right back?"

Derek has already turned toward the door with one last snide little grin in Peter's direction and Jackson is quickly following suit with his hands clasped behind his back. And he can think of nothing, absolutely _nothing_ that can get him out of this trap for at least a few hours. Scott will probably go right back to Allison. Jackson will report to Lydia.

And Derek...hopefully Derek will only let him suffer for a little while until he goes to Deaton. He'll probably go, Peter thinks. He will. No one in their right mind would leave Peter in charge of a teenager and a baby.

Scott is still spouting promises while following the other two out the apartment. He grins widely at Stiles once more before he closes the door and leaves them in silence.

Stiles looks at him. "Did we just get fucked over?"

" _Yes_ ," Peter snaps.

Peter sits on his couch and closes his eyes, trying very hard to block out Stiles' grumbling and the baby's cheerful gurgling.

"You need baby formula."

Peter ignores him.

"And a crib. For babies."

_No_.

"You know Jackson stole some of your liquor, right?"

Peter doesn't even care at this point.

"Dick," Stiles mutters under his breath.

Peter rubs at his eyes. His phone chimes in his pocket with a new alert and he brings it out to read.

 

**Isaac** : Derek says you and Stiles adopted a baby

**Boyd** : thats seriously fucked up

**Erica** : HOLY SHIT DID YOU AND STILES JUST GET WEREWOLF MARRIED

**Lydia** : :)


End file.
